


The Dying Forest

by Kardinalka



Series: The Red and the Blue [1]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 14:19:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kardinalka/pseuds/Kardinalka
Summary: Thanks a lot to FreyaLor for her great Betareading! :-*





	The Dying Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FreyaLor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaLor/gifts).



[Music for this story... ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85fCaEYy69E)

 

***

 

 

 

 

Autumn in lobed-leaved trees of Saint-Lambert's forest smelled like humus and damp wood.

The sun was filtering through trees and made that temple of nature even more beautiful than what the stained glass of the Cathedral of Chartres can conjure up. Yellow leaves fluttered down to the ground, slightly drifting in the wind, furtively reflecting the soft afternoon sun.

That forest near Saint-Lambert was unearthly beautiful place this afternoon.

Six men entered the forest.  
Six men on five strong horses.

Five powerful men, five soldiers, and in the middle, a slim figure in a dirty shirt and a black fur-trimmed blue coat, high riding boots in soft leather, so inappropriate for this muddy forest soil.

The October sun is still strong enough to shed light on all of them, but not quite to warm up numb white hands, clenched in fists. The man in blue stared into the clear sunshine, on the horizon, where the sun shone through the trees, illuminating the dark clouds of an approaching thunderstorm. His dark brown eyes in direct sunlight glinted like amber, his pale skin turning a vibrant shade of gold, his quivering eyelashes seeming almost white.

 

The men around him stopped and bowed their heads. Their horses' reins suddenly became more important than what was happening in front of them.

Only one of them did not stop and led the slender figure deeper into the forest. Only the wind murmuring in the leaves was to be heard, none of those men spoke a word, just as the blue-cloaked men did. He just raised his head and stared into the sun. He wanted to see the sky, or a small bit, at least.

 

An unexpected force threw him to the ground. His knees sank into the yellow ground, icy fingers gripping dry leaves. He felt the chill of the earth. He felt it piercing through his skin. He knew in a moment he could fade out; as the remaining flicker of warmth that kept his tired heart beating would disappear in the forest, between the trunks of trees at the Saint-Lambert.

Slowly he straightened his back and sat on his heels, hands folded into his lap.

 

He felt nothing but pain, the one coming from the blood his grey hair was glued with. The same blood  drowning his mouth with a taste of copper, the same blood running down his nose and dripping into the beech leaves.

Drops of blood and the wind. The only measure of time. 

 

 

The dying sun made a last show of force, exploding from behind a cloud and bathing the autumn forest in golden light, making the four men next to their horses avert their eyes in humility.

 

 

The fifth man only narrowed his eyes and pulled out a gun of his leather doublet.

He watched the kneeling man's back, his wavy greying hair shining in the autumn sun and gently waving in the wind, the golden necklace on his white neck, the drying blood on his blue coat.

He looked, but did not see the pain in the brown eyes. Pain for which death was a relief, even if it came from the hands of a man he cared for more than all others, in whom he believed, whom he…

 

Captain Treville looked and didn't see the tears mixing with the blood on the white face of the great cardinal. The most powerful man in the country in the morning, a prisoner in the afternoon, a convict without a trial waiting for execution without witnesses in the early evening, in a beautiful forest on a hill near Saint-Lambert.

 

 

 

"For treason. For conspiracy against the king.“ Whispered the captain of the musketeers and pointed the barrel of his gun to the back of the First minister's head.

Richelieu closed his eyes.

He didn't pray. Didn't ask. Didn't beg. He didn't even feel his hands clenched in his lap. He just felt the chill of the Earth crawling through his body, that's all.

 

Gunshot reverberated through the forest, echoing a few times.

 

Only Porthos looked up and saw the kneeling figure limply sliding down to the ground. He didn't want to see more. 

Their captain took a firm step back , threw the gun in his saddlebag, hopped on his horse, ordered them to leave and galloped away.

The four men looked at each other confused, all eyes lingering on the silhouette blue, but they just hurried on their horses and followed the captain.

 

Six men entered the Saint-Lamber forest, five men came back.

Dead leaves were failling to the blue coat.

 

Light faded and Earth cooled.

The icy hands had whitened a bit.

The sun disappeared behind the clouds.

Gray hair covered a pale face.

Hair stained with blood.

The wind howled.

 

The storm started.

 

 

The four musketeers didn´t catch up with their captain, rushing his horse to Versailles.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Are you shocked? I hope yes!
> 
> Well...you know, the last time they are all fanfic too romantic, too sweet... I Also love romance, my modern trevilieu is romantic, but it's too much. Therefore, my Trevilieu of 17th century is a little different... yes, I guess I'm a bit of a masochist. The first chapter is kind of rough, huh? If you are interested, I'll add more…


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